(no subject)
Title: Trigger Happy
Author: Closet Child
Pairing: Robbie Keane/Rio Ferdinand
Summary: Rio and Robbie triggered happy.
Rating: NC -17 (for slight use of language and sexual situations)
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the mentioned. This is purely a work of fiction, spurn by my imagination.
Author’s Notes: This was loosely inspired by what Rio Ferdinand said when he was in Leeds in the 2001 Season. I’m not sure if they played Charlton Athletic because I can’t find the fixtures of the 2001 squad anywhere. As far as I know, it feels like the players between years 2001-2002 are very much hated by many Leeds fans. So perhaps they decided to do away with them in fan sites.
"If We're staying in a hotel before a game, we'll watch Trigger happy TV then So Graham Norton. Then we'll cuddle up and fall asleep!" - Rio Ferdinand on rooming with Robbie Keane at Leeds
Robbie sinks back into the bed, crossing his arms over his chest, stretching his socks-clad legs. They were up against the Addicks tomorrow at The Valley. The team had got on the bus from Elland Road early yesterday and reached south-east London in late noon.
Training ended two hours ago and they had lunch. It was ‘free time’ till dinner again. Some of the team decided to go about town. O’Leary nagged them into bringing along brollies or macs should they step out of the shelter, didn’t want anyone calling in from a cold on the eve of the game.
There was nothing ever to do in London. Robbie was not a stranger to the city. Sure it holds more fun than Dublin could, but the people aren’t that friendly. Neither are the pigeons. Went to Trafalgar square when he was a wee lad, holding a slice of bread in his hands, the birds flew after him like a cat to a mouse. Now he was older and the pigeons take off at the sight of him approaching, but Robbie still kept the distance.
Besides that, London always rained. It was grey and cloudy from dawn to dusk. Such a dreadful weather making Robbie feel washed up.
The telly makes things better… With shows like Trigger Happy TV, 2DTV, Monty Python, Father Ted and Mr. Bean re-runs serving as his laughter pill and at the same time, kept him occupied in drizzly London. And the Americans thought the Brits were humorless.
In comes Rio, frowning.
“Where you going?”
“No where,” Robbie shifted a bit as Rio got on the bed. They were bunking together again. The club made an error in the bookings for the stay and everyone had to share a Queen sized bed. Wasn’t very ideal for Robbie as he knew the captain kicked about in his sleep. He has seen that when Rio had early nights before.
“You got your socks on.”
“’Tis cold,” he shrugged, slipping his legs under the sheets. This made the defender snicker.
“My gramps did that whenever it rained.” Rio quickly reached for the elastic of Robbie’s socks to snap them. A successful action, earning him a little startled jump and a tiny yelp from the Irish man.
Robbie slapped away the older man’s hands, it’s hard to believe this man two year older than he was, captained the team.
“What you watching?” Rio asked when they subsided from their playful bantering. His lean body reclined on the bed, his head resting on an upright pillow. He had his eyes focused on the tiny goose bumps on his friend’s pale skin. Then, absent-mindedly, he begins joining the dots.
“Tree-girl Happy ish goin’ on in ‘bout five…”
“I love that show,” the taller one declared, continuing to trace imaginary things on Robbie’s arm idly.
“I love that show too,” said Robbie as he surfed the channels, waiting for the program to start.
A commercial for Top of the Pops blasts from the television set. Seems like a new boy band has just debuted again.
“God! Change the flipping channel!” Rio winced. Robbie kindly obliged, and he went on to the next channels, Rio pointing out the annoyance of reality television and complaining the lack of good and exciting dramas with intelligent plots and strong storylines.
“Since when d’yer bother about shows for intellects?”
Robbie took a swipe at the captain; he didn’t understand how anyone who listens to hip-hop and rap would ever be bothered with intelligence. Rap borders on sex and booze. Not good for a clean Irish boy like him. Plus, the Irish were high on melody. Look at Boyzone, The Corrs, Enya, The Pogues, Sinead O’ Connor, Thin Lizzy, U2, Van Morrisson, Westlife etc. - It is in their blood!
“Sing then, if you are so smart!” Rio taunted Robbie.
“Come on then, sing Keano!”
“Stop it!”
“Never heard you sing, can’t you belt out a line or two?”
“Fine! Rio, yer rat!” Robbie paused for a moment and pursed his lips.
“Yer better naught bay recording dis on yer mobile!” he looked around warily, checking Rio’s hands.
“Ugh! You going to start now or wait till I get the team here to listen to your concert?”
Flustered, Robbie’s mind raced for a song.
Oh what could he sing without an instrument accompanying his voice? Rio looked on at him earnestly, with his large brown eyes, waiting patiently.
“There's a tear in yer eye,
And I'm wondering why,” Robbie faltered a bit, stealing a sideway glance at Rio who was looking amused, with his darn manicured eyebrows. It was distracting, so he closed his eyes and continued, recalling the song he used to hear when he was a child, the words coming to him naturally.
”For it never should be there at all.
With such pow'r in yer smile-”
This sent the skipper howling in laughter. He threw his long legs up in the air, kicking wildly and laughing insanely, very much like a mad man.
“What the- song is that?” he finally settled down, sitting up decently, wiping a stray tear from his eye.
“Tear in my eye indeed!” he yanked away the pillow which Robbie rested his head on.
The other man snatched it back and put it back into place with a mock glare.
“’Tis called When Irish Eyes Are Smiling, a folk song,” Robbie pretended to look offended, “they put it in singing leprechauns and sell it to daft Brit tourists like yer!”
“Daft? That is the silliest song I have ever heard in my whole life!”
“Well, but dis so much better than all those yo dawg! Shizzle fizzle my grizzle!” he accentuated his words with exaggerated hand actions like those rap stars on MTV.
The laughing bout got worse with that, Rio now lay on his back, clutching his stomach. Robbie couldn’t help it but joined him, laughing at his little act.
Suddenly, Rio jolted up from his rest position and smacked Robbie’s thigh.
“Oi! Trigger Happy is on!” he exclaimed, the sharp sting on his tender skin diverting his attention back to the box. He switched to Channel 4, rubbing the numbness that was spreading to the rest of his body.
“Why d’yer have to hit so hard Snoop?” questioned Robbie as he pressed his fingers at the sore spot, trying to soothe the ache. “I don’t plan ta stay on ee bench t’morrow yer know?”
“Sorry,” Rio gave a weak apologetic laugh. Trigger Happy theme was mid-way. He placed his large brown hands on the red patch that was spreading on the bare skin. He snatched the salve by the nightstand and dipped his fingers in the cool gel.
Robbie seized his hands.
“Can yer wait till commercial? Don’t want ta keep laffin’ at Dom Joly ‘n at ee same thyme, have yer tickle me there!”
Rio sniggered; he knew his friend was ticklish there! Just did it on purpose. He ignored Robbie’s request, he pursued the stinging patch with his cold fingers, spreading the viscous goo over the hot skin.
“Ugh! Re-oooo” he pushed away the probing hands that were gently massaging his upper calves.
Dom Joly was pulling his latest prank on the public, dressed as a snail, crawling on his belly to get on the other side of the road by the zebra crossing. The cars are waiting for him who is slowly making his way.
Meanwhile, Robbie stretched across Rio and headed for the open jar of salve; he dipped his fingers into it and pulled out a sizeable glob, slapping it all over Rio’s upper body.
“Oh! You stupid cunt! Keane! Now I got to send this shirt to the laundry!” Rio tried to sound pissed off. He was a fine liar - actor, his ma and his headmaster oft told him he would have a profession on the stage if he weren’t a footballer.
Robbie hasn’t seen the tall defender in a fit. Mainly because it was rare that anything should get to this cool-headed guy.
He ceased his actions and quickly apologised.
“I’ll clean yer shirt fer yer,” he offered.
“How?’ Rio asked in a distress tone.
“I’ll- wash it by the sink, t’will dry t’morrow…”
“No you can’t!”
“’y naught?” Robbie looked genuinely worried about the tension building between the two of them.
“Because-“
“The bathroom sink is only for washing hands!” Rio joked, looking at the disbelief on Robbie’s face.
“Aha! You got merked!” Rio flashed a triumphant grin and stripped off his salve spotted tee.
It took a while for the younger man to realise that Rio was faking the whole thing.
“Re-ooooo!” he swat his prying hands away from his shirt.
“Got you real good didn’t I?”
“Twit! Gerr off me!”
He launched his 1.91 m frame over Robbie’s smaller one, slumping over his back, pressing his weight, his chest against his shoulder blades. Out of the blue, his arms circled Robbie’s neck, and got him headlock. The latter struggled, kicking the captain off his back.
“I can see ‘y Anton doesn’t play ee same team as yer!” Robbie grumbled, rubbing his neck. Rio had a vice grip and his hand is imprinted on his neck as it is on his thigh.
He used to do that to his little brother when they were kids, to get him do his bidding when he refused. Works all the time.
A coldness slid down his back. Rio had emptied the remaining of the salve on him. Shrieking, Robbie took off his wet shirt and flung it down the carpet.
“There. Even!” Rio remarked, smugly.
“’n yer twenty-three years old!” he rolled his eyes.
“So?”
“Behave yerself! Naught yer mam, fer Christ’s sake! Why ‘m I tellin’ yer dis?” Robbie asked aloud a hint of annoyance in his Irish lilt.
Rio stood up on the mattress abruptly. Standing tall, he looked down at Robbie who looked up at him quizzically. He couldn’t tell what was going on next. With Rio around, anything become unpredictable. Sort of like a surprise, a shock surprise like Dom Joly and crew did to unsuspecting people.
“Yes, I’m naughty! No, you aren’t my mom!” declared the centre-back.
“And you know, naughty people don’t behave!” he dove headfirst into the sheets, his long limbs tangling themselves into Robbie’s, he embraced the young striker close to his chest, spooning him behind, resting on his side.
It was commercial break.
He nipped at the red patch on Robbie’s neck, his tongue darting along. He could feel the Irish man, shivering from the cooling effect of the menthol salve and from his ministrations.
“Re-oooo...” he moaned, dragging on the name, grinding his firm round behind into the hardening groin of the taller man.
This answered in a lusty reaction.
This created a want.
This decided on satisfying needs. Be it selfless or selfish.
Strong legs twist around his own socks-clad ones, forcing him apart. A free hand snapped the elastic, this time, of his boxer shorts, and reached down for his semi-hard rod that nestled between the soft curls of his nether region.
“Aren’t you a wee bit naughty too?” Rio teased, his hand running up and down the now full-fledge erection, in slow sensual strokes.
“Here,” he whispered hotly into Robbie’s burning ears, his thumb rubbing fast on the slit, which was warm and moist by the second.
Robbie’s hips jut forward, thrusting into Rio’s hold, the friction between their skins sparking an excitement through his veins, the blood, reaching his throbbing heart, a flush spreading across his chest, perking his nipples up. He wriggled in the warmth of Rio’s arms, feeling a growing hard length rising between his butt cheeks, he clenched his muscles, sandwiching the pulsating thing between.
“Fuck! Keane!” Rio groaned, he yanked his own shorts down and let his prick spring out, he gave it a few jerks, before putting it back between Robbie’s plump arse and started dry humping him, sliding in and out of in his crack. Robbie relished in the sensation of feeling Rio.
They kept on giving and returning, sharing the pleasure, the moment. It wasn’t long before Robbie felt himself teetering at the edge, in the blink of an eye, falling back into the embrace; he gave a final thrust and spilled his seed into Rio’s secure hands. Rio finished himself in Robbie’s boxers in a contented sigh. He let his hands stray about the curve of Robbie’s pubic bone, reminding him every bit of an Aston Martin bonnet in a James Bond flick, a real beauty, that car is. Then he drew his fingers further up, stroking the place where his heart lies. He reeled Robbie nearer with his arms, tight.
Snuggling his head under Rio’s chin, he could feel the light stubble scratching his scalp. A pleasant, safe feeling, he smiles and sneaked a light kiss on the tanned collar bone. They were silent in a daze; the only movements were gentle caresses, loving touches. And their eyelids grew heavy.
Before he was about to shut off, Robbie pulled off his boxers that were soaked in Rio’s cream, it was dampening his skin. His heavy arm pitched the soggy fabric over the television, covering Dom Joly’s face.
As they fall into a sweet slumber, with the television still running.
The sorrowful music of the scene fading as the next skit came on, while their bodies at rest and their hearts triggered happy, in constant slow, steady beats.
Author’s Notes: I hoped you like it. Not many Rio/Robbie out that. Back then, Leeds used to hold a hell lot of good players who are now in the national English squad. Sad the club ran into some financial problems, they would still have been in the Premier league, probably even closet to the Big Four level too! Sorry about the relegation. Do wish they get back on their feet soon!